


Hollow knight

by UlsPi



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curse Breaking, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: "I don't need a squire!""I don't want to be a squire!"And so it begins.It being the story of Ser Geralt of Rivia and his loyal squire Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	Hollow knight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sani, my brilliant friend, and this amazing art https://daryshkart.tumblr.com/post/190576657079/ive-been-listening-to-iris-by-the-goo-goo-dolls

"I don't need a squire!"

"I don't want to be a squire!"

And so it begins.

_ What it?  _ I can hear you ask, but I'm not Alexa, so it's just a metaphor. 

_ It  _ being the story of Ser Geralt of Rivia and his loyal squire Jaskier. 

In all honesty, Ser Geralt didn't need a squire. Ser Geralt didn't need anyone, apart from his horse named Roach, his two swords, his peculiar and complex crush on a local sorceress (it provided the court with all the gossip, heartbreak, romance and negative example), but preferably without the sorceress nearby, and that was about it. 

Yet, the king insisted that Ser Geralt needed a squire. And claimed to have found just the man. 

Kings shouldn't be occupied with squires, of course, but the king was a busybody. 

Suffice is to say, that  _ just the man _ was an aspiring bard and quite a lot of walking, talking, handsome nuisance. Ser Geralt rightly suspected that the king and Jaskier's father just wanted to get rid of a loud courtier and a disappointment of an heir respectively. 

Their first hours on the road consist of Gerald's grunts and Jaskier's fantasy on the theme of  _ how dare they _ . It's a poetic exercise, but Geralt thinks it's a torture and Jaskier agrees with him.

Geralt's line of work as a wandering knight is simple - find evil, fight evil, be noble, be chased away when your idea of nobility doesn't agree with the general population, rinse, repeat, bring glory and heroics back to the court, rinse again, because no one wants a dirty knight, everyone wants a knight in the shining armour, although no one volunteers their services of polishing said armour to an appropriate level of shining. Geralt thinks he's just used as a mirror when he's at court. He thinks it literally, and that's one of his problems in life, not that he has many, they are just too damn big. 

Now, Jaskier's line of work is simple too. He's a man of fine tastes, he's a generous soul, he's a good lover - and he has so much love to give that he rarely pays attention to the fact that people around him don't care for sensitive hearts. He's a viscount, he has to bring glory, but he doesn't have to be noble in anything but his bloodline, and Jaskier thinks it's unfair. As of the moment, he thinks that everything is bloody unfair, and that knight riding his high horse is unbearable in every way. 

Let him count the ways he finds Geralt unbearable. Jaskier is playing his lute to keep count, because Jaskier cares for his lute as much as Geralt cares for his horse. 

So, one, Geralt is unbearably handsome - long white hair, a jaw to cut paper, yellow eyes - more about that later, - broad shoulders, narrow hips, rambling voice when he cares to speak.

Two, Geralt is a grump. He's the ideal grump. No one can be grumpier than Geralt, even Jaskier's least favourite noble uncle thrice removed (but regrettably, not from Jaskier's life). 

Three, Geralt thinks he's the only one suffering. 

Four, oh shit, there are bandits on the road. 

Jaskier promptly climbs the nearest tree, which happens to be an old chestnut. It's poetic, but Jaskier doesn't have the time to think why. (It's because chestnuts are yummy.)

Geralt grunts and takes his position. It's a meagre band of ten, Geralt could deal with them in his sleep, but he hasn't been sleeping well lately, perhaps due to the fact that Lady Yennefer tends to keep Geralt in her chambers and thoroughly occupied when Geralt is at court. If they are not pleasantly occupied, then they need to talk, and neither of them is ready for that. I think, more about that later too. There are bandits after all, and chestnuts, and a very handsome blue-eyed bard, pardon, squire, who immediately sees that Geralt has been too  _ occupied  _ and moves a bit like a stunned fish. Or a horse. Or just someone genuinely stunned and grumpy. One would think that being stunned could lessen Geralt's grumpiness, but Geralt is a stubborn man. 

Jaskier thinks quickly. He picks a few chestnuts, curses his life, dips said chestnuts into some olive oil that he uses for his hair (he has incredible hair; if Geralt were less grumpy, he'd yearn to touch it and adjust Jaskier's fringe; more about it later, I need to keep you interested), pulls out his fucking silver matchbox, sets the chestnuts on fire and tosses them down upon unsuspecting bandits with marvelous precision. (There's nothing marvelous about it - Jaskier was a naughty boy and he still is. He beds many people, alright, but he can hold his ground, pardon, tree.)

The bandits are sufficiently distracted for Geralt to kill them fuckers immediately. Oh, wrong style. Whatever. 

"Can you climb back down?" Geralt asks after everyone is fucking dead! Shit, I can't get a hold of myself. Graphic depictions of violence. 

"Of course I can!" Jaskier huffs and falls off his branch almost gracefully. "You're wounded!" Jaskier gasps. 

"It's alright," Geralt grunts and collapses on the ground. 

Jaskier will never let it be known that he can't excel at something, and if he's to be a squire, he has to excel at that too. That's why he swiftly undresses the unconscious knight and then we skip through this part. Jaskier patches the knight, starts a fire, catches a rabbit, roasts it and strums his lute. 

Geralt comes to with a grunt. 

"Oh, here you are. What the fuck, Geralt, you're supposed to be legendary." Jaskier shoves a waterskin into Geralt's hands. 

"You healed me."

"Stunning observation. I'm your squire, and you're very lucky I was good at chemistry. You should tag your bottles, Geralt. Otherwise…"

"Hmmmm."

"Eloquent. Pleasure. Eat your fucking dinner." 

Geralt eats his fucking dinner. 

"Are you carrying herbs?" He asks. 

"Of course I'm carrying herbs! And I wasted good chestnuts on those bandits… I had to drag them away too!" Jaskier isn't boasting, he's complaining, but somehow Geralt finds it endearing. His wound is stitched perfectly and perhaps with a little too much flourish for a wound, but it feels… fine. And the rabbit tastes good with just a bit of rosemary and thyme.

Jaskier hands Geralt some nuts and raisins. 

"A meal without a dessert is a meal not worth having," he explains. 

They sit in silence. 

"Why are your eyes yellow, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, because silence is too hard to bear when you're a bard. Unless you need it for inspiration, then by all means, everyone has to shut up. 

"We used to be made," Geralt replies. That rabbit is something. It's juicy and perfectly roasted and smells delicious, and Jaskier has blue eyes. 

"Oh…" Jaskier shifts to sit closer to Geralt. "So… it's all true then? That the alchemists used to experiment on orphaned boys to turn them into invincible… knight machines?"

"Hmmmm," Geralt says. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt. It's absolutely hateful."

"Well, we are hateful."

"No, Geralt, you're not," Jaskier says softly. Geralt looks at him, shocked. 

"Us, wandering knights… we're… not…"

"It's alright, Geralt," Jaskier says soothingly. He's eighteen years old, he has more love than one should be naturally able to give, and he listens and holds Geralt. "It's alright."

Geralt hears himself sobbing for the first time in a hundred years. Jaskier holds him through it. 

Of course they travel in silence the next day. 

And the next. 

And another day. 

Geralt is silent, that is. Jaskier is singing and chattering and reenacting entire plays. 

"Do you ever shut up?"

"No, I don't," Jaskier replies without skipping a beat. 

They camp, Geralt sleeps well, Jaskier finds some mint and makes tea. 

Entirely by accident they discover that Jaskier is a bee whisperer, because of course Jaskier just sticks his hand inside a beehive, and Geralt grunts louder than usual. But Jaskier just pulls his hand back, said hand oozing with honey. Geralt doesn't even think about licking those long fingers clean. He's nothing but angry. 

"What? It's not supposed to be like that?" He asks incredulously, looking at Geralt's incredulous face. 

Geralt just hums in reply. They have tea with honey that night. It's cozy. Geralt doesn't know what cozy is, but he thinks that's what it is. 

After a few more days they stop at an inn. Well, they try to. 

The moment they enter, people begin to curse and spit and call Geralt  _ the butcher of Blaviken _ .

"Excuse me!" Jaskier yells. He has a beautiful, no, annoying voice, so everyone shuts up. "This man can't carve any meat properly! So he can't be a butcher! You insult all the butchers in the land!"

A few butchers at the inn hear themselves agreeing with a loud blue-eyed bard. 

"And let me tell you that I witnessed the events of Blaviken, and here's what I have to say!" Jaskier hops on a table and fucking improvises a ballad based on his very basic knowledge of whatever the fuck happened in Blaviken and his desire to have a bath. 

Jaskier hadn't been born when Geralt was in Blaviken, but it doesn't matter. He's beautiful and gentle, he's graceful and talented, and before long he and Geralt have a room free of charge and some very good stew with a discount. 

"Are you a fucking mage?" Geralt asks. 

"No, dear heart," Jaskier answers bitterly. No eighteen-year-old should be so bitter. "I'm a very good bard. The truth is what I want it to be, and I don't believe you have a bloodthirsty bone in that gorgeous body of yours." He doesn't even blush.

"How do you know about Blaviken?"

"I don't know shit about Blaviken, but there are only a few plots out here in the world, and I'm well-educated and well-read." 

"I… could tell you about it," Geralt offers.

"Only if you want."

They keep going, fighting monsters that are really not monsters, and people who are more monstrous than any creature they are called to fight. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes a lot. 

They come upon a ragged band of Elves who try to kill them both, but Geralt talks them out of it. He even manages a few complete sentences. 

And he tells them to let his squire go. 

They break Jaskier's lute, and Geralt grunts so menacingly, Jaskier feels sudden sympathy for their tormentors who are just lost and hungry. 

Jaskier digs through his bag and gives the Elves his mother's diamond ring.

They give him the lute of his dreams.

They keep going. 

Jaskier is a disaster of a squire. He beds all the wrong people - all those people are married, engaged, have terrible families… And Jaskier is there to show them they can be loved and cherished. 

Geralt can't find it in himself to chide Jaskier for it. 

He chides him as a challenge all the same.

The king's knights work free of charge, and the king provides his wandering knights with pitiful wages. Jaskier quickly learns that Geralt is used to being hungry and sleeping in the woods. 

Jaskier is the kind of poet who firmly believes that his word carries a certain kind of magic. It's especially true when he sings about Geralt, because for all his grumpy demeanour, Geralt gives up the last scraps of food he has to a starving mother. Because Geralt never acts against his own code of honour which is so strict that it has to be written down, otherwise Geralt chases himself down the rabbit hole of hermeneutics. Jaskier can't allow it for many reasons.

First, he needs his small comforts. Second, Geralt, in Jaskier's arrogant opinion, deserves the world. 

So he sings about Geralt to earn them some coin, but he's not surprised when Geralt receives his first basket of food and fresh clothes as a token of gratitude from the village Geralt saved from… some monster Jaskier can't remember the name of. Jaskier doesn't dwell on the forms of evil Geralt fights - he dwells on Geralt. 

And dotes on him.

Geralt gets the best pieces of their dinner. Geralt gets his hair washed and braided by Jaskier. 

And yes, Jaskier is a hopeless squire. He trips over himself - especially if he looks at Geralt and he looks at Geralt all the time. 

And as much as Geralt would like to stare at Jaskier in all his shining, glimmering glory, he can't allow for it - someone has to catch Jaskier when he trips over something and there's Lady Yennefer. 

"Tell me about Lady Yennefer," Jaskier asks one evening. 

They are resting on a huge bed at a good inn. They have eaten a delicious dinner. Geralt's hair is braided beautifully. Jaskier's eyes are brighter than all the candles in the world supported by a few wildfires. Or so Geralt thinks. He's not a poet.

Or so Geralt thinks. 

"Well… so… ehm… she's beautiful. Powerful. Smells of lilac and gooseberries. Frankly, I don't like lilac and gooseberries, but it… smells good on her. She wanted a djinn. I caught one for her. But on my way back to her I accidentally let the djinn free, so when Yennefer tried to command it, it… it almost killed her. I panicked and wished for her safety. The djinns are tricky creatures, mischievous and cruel… it bound me to Yennefer, and her to me. We can't… let each other go. She hates me for it. I hate myself for it. And the djinn serves as an advisor to the king."

Jaskier is silent, which is unusual. 

Jaskier is so silent, Geralt looks up at him to make sure his squire wasn't eaten by a wolf or something. 

Jaskier is there, bright and kind and so, so, so wonderful. He smells of first daffodils, of sticky buttercups, of sweet dandelions, of allergies and exasperation, of Geralt's own fate, but not as he has it - as he's supposed to have it, according to Jaskier's songs.

Geralt swallows. 

Jaskier says,  _ Oh Geralt… _

They go to sleep and don't talk for a week. Jaskier talks to trees and stones and rocks and Roach and his own boots and his lute, but he doesn't talk to Geralt. 

They keep traveling, Jaskier keeps singing. 

"Do you love her, though?" Jaskier asks after two weeks of talking to anything but Geralt. 

"I… she's my lady. I… she's beautiful. Powerful."

"Geralt, do you love her?"

"I don't know? How am I supposed to tell? I was made into this… thing. A knight. Nothing else."

"Love is when you notice them only when they are gone," Jaskier says quietly. He's very clever, and Geralt ponders over his words through the night. 

At some point he turns his head to look at Jaskier. Jaskier who's supposed to be sleeping on his bedroll, but isn't there. Must have slipped away for a walk or to relieve himself or something. 

But Geralt misses him.

He misses him for seventy beats of his heart.

Jaskier comes back, reeking of vomit and complains about their dinner and…

Geralt silently holds him once Jaskier is settled on his bedroll. Reeking or not, he has blue eyes, a bright smile and he braids Geralt's hair. He smells like home, like a messy, real, absolutely down-to-earth home. 

Geralt holds him closer. Makes him some mint tea in the morning. Washes his clothes in the nearest river. 

And misses him while his hands freeze in the cold water.

***

It's late autumn when they arrive at a small village. There's a sorcerer tormenting its inhabitants with his illusions and pettiness. 

His name is Stregobor. He's the man responsible for Geralt's reputation as  _ a butcher _ , and he's very petty about Jaskier having made Geralt into a hero he has always been. 

When Geralt confronts him, exhausted and missing Jaskier. 

He told Jaskier to stay behind, but Jaskier is sitting on a nearby tree. He could totally sing Stregobor to death, or so Geralt told him, but Geralt is missing Jaskier's chatter and songs and flashy outfits, even when Jaskier is so close, and absolutely unreachable because Stregobor can't know about Jaskier. 

It's better to just leave it to your imagination what exactly happened in Blaviken all those years ago. 

Jaskier knows that Geralt tried to help someone that Stregobor had hurt in an unimaginable way. Jaskier knows that Geralt had to make a choice between saving the common folk who proceeded to chase him away, and saving the person Stregobor had wronged. 

Jaskier, frankly, doesn't care. 

Geralt is afraid he cares a lot, and not about Geralt. 

"I'm a knight doing my job!" Geralt says to Stregobor.

Jaskier holds his breath and starts thinking what he can set on fire in order to set Stregobor on fire.

"Then that's all you'll ever be!" Stregobor says, spitting around. "You'll be just that, a knight, doing his job, nothing else. You're not human, Geralt, you're no man. You think you're a knight? So be it!"

Stregobor laughs. Geralt swings his sword. 

***

Geralt takes some… potions to fight. Sometimes. When he deems his enemies dangerous enough. 

When Geralt takes his potions, his eyes are black, and he looks… hollow. He's a knight and nothing else, so Jaskier knows what Stregobor's words mean even before Geralt does. 

He climbs down his tree and comes close to Geralt. He's moving gingerly, carefully. Geralt turns to him, and Jaskier knows immediately that he won't see Gerald's golden gaze for a while. Geralt is hollow. When Jaskier touches his armour, there's no warmth underneath it, there's nothing inside that armour. 

Geralt turns his unseeing face to Jaskier. 

"Oh… oh my love," Jaskier whispers. 

Geralt just stares at him, his eyes blank and black. 

Jaskier thinks of his chalk. How he used to find something black to draw on it with his white chalk. 

He cups Gerald's face and leans up to kiss his cheek. "It's alright, Geralt, it's fine. We'll figure it out."

***

They keep traveling. 

Geralt doesn't take his armour off, he doesn't sleep and he doesn't eat. 

Sometimes he tilts his head, especially when Jaskier says something particularly silly. 

Otherwise he just sits there, his eyes blank and black, and his armour hollow. 

Jaskier asks him to lie down by his side one night. He asks out of desperation, honestly. He's been seeing Geralt like this for weeks - hunting down a monster, coming back, staring into the fire or middle distance. 

But Jaskier isn't surprised when Geralt holds him and lies down next to him. 

"You're there, dear heart… I know you're there." Jaskier falls asleep with a smile on his face, unbothered by Geralt's steady and unwavering gaze. 

They keep traveling. Jaskier does all the talking, but there's nothing new about it - they came to a silent agreement long ago: Jaskier deals with monsters who think they are people and Geralt deals with monsters whom people consider monsters.

And Jaskier makes it into a song that makes everyone understand the truth of things. 

Every night Geralt lies down next to Jaskier, and Jaskier cups his face and looks into the black eyes. They look at each other - or so Jaskier believes - then Jaskier falls asleep, only to wake up to the same empty stare. 

Jaskier cleans and polishes the armour with the same tenderness he'd wash Geralt with. He still braids Geralt's hair. 

"Never thought I'd miss your grunts, Geralt," Jaskier says one night, caressing Geralt's face. 

Geralt closes his eyes and sighs.

"Yes, that's it, dear heart. Breathe. Breathe, my darling, relax and sleep."

***

They make it back to the court by early winter. 

No one notices a thing. 

Jaskier's father tries to congratulate his son on having survived the mission of being a  _ true man. _ Jaskier ignores him, and he ignores the king as well. He drags Gerald to Lady Yennefer. 

"That's just Geralt," she says with a shrug.

"No, it's not. You know it, my lady. That's not Geralt. He wronged you, I know. He told me about it, he regrets it. But Geralt is alive and… doubting. Doubt is what makes us human."

Yennefer takes a long look at Jaskier.

"True love's kiss is always a way to go," she says. 

"Well… then why don't you kiss him?" 

"Why don't you?"

"I'm his squire. His friend. I hardly qualify…"

Yennefer dismisses them. 

Jaskier leads his hollow knight back to his rooms, he cleans his armour and kisses his eyes, black and uncaring.

"I've been taking too many liberties. I'm sorry, dear heart. I'm so sorry… but I love you, Geralt, and I love you so much. Please, come back…" he sobs. "Come back. Not for me, not to me, just come back, I want you back. The world is bleaker without you."

And Jaskier cries, holding on to Geralt's shoulders. 

Geralt stirs, annoyed, in Jaskier's hold. 

"Bard…"

He says  _ bard  _ like one should say  _ darling.  _ So Jaskier cries harder. 

"Bard… Jaskier… Songbird. My sweet… squire."

Jaskier raises his head - and meets the gold of Geralt's eyes. "Geralt… oh, Geralt. It's you… it's you, you, you!" Jaskier holds him tighter. "I missed you, you grumpy… I missed you."

Geralt holds him back.

"You… Jask… Will you travel with me again? Will you be my squire?"

Jaskier sobs and nods.

"And… will you be my… everything too?"

Jaskier gazes at Geralt.

Oh, it's no use. They just kiss. 

They leave at dawn, winter or no winter. 

They never come back to the court. 

But when the young viscount of Lettenhove comes back home, he returns a married man. He doesn't accept any arguments. 

The winters go by, however long and however cold, and after seventeen winters, the viscount and his husband come home and settle there. 

For eternity and a day.


End file.
